


Beating of an Absent Heart

by rustingroses



Category: In the Flesh (TV)
Genre: Episode Tag, Hatesex, M/M, With just a hint of feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-20
Updated: 2014-12-20
Packaged: 2018-03-02 09:19:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2807402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rustingroses/pseuds/rustingroses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After that funny Sunday lunch, Kieren tracks down Gary to have another laugh. They end up fucking instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beating of an Absent Heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sandrine Shaw (Sandrine)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sandrine/gifts).



“Funny, really?” Kieren barked out, so furious that he just wanted to shake Gary until his few remaining brain cells leaked right out of his ears. The aborted Sunday lunch kept playing in his mind over and over again, until here Keiren stood, in the wee hours of the morning, on Gary’s doorstep, practically snarling with blind rage.

Gary sneered. “Right, let’s pity the poor rotter,” he snapped back, his shoulders tense. He looked like he might punch Kieren; Kieren almost hoped he might try it, anything to burn off this sensation. “Cause it’s not your fault you ripped people’s skulls open and chewed on their brains, oh no, it’s time to fucking pity you rotters!”

Kieren snapped first, shoving Gary backwards into his house and following inside, kicking the door shut behind him. “You don’t understand anything,” Kieren bit out, crowding into Gary’s space. Every instinct clamored that Kieren was being stupid and senseless and this time, he was going to get himself shot in the head, his brains blasted all over the wall, and this time his parents probably wouldn’t be able to have an open casket.

Strange, the thoughts that went through people’s heads.

“Oh, that’s right, I don’t understand you rotters at all, I was just the one who protected the village, who made sure that you animals were put down!” Gary snarled the words so close to Kieren’s face that he felt them brush against his skin. Or perhaps it was the memory of what it felt like, to have words so close they touched.

Rick had been good at that.

Kieren shoved Gary again, but this time Gary was prepared and rocked back hardly a step. Instead, he grabbed hold of Kieren and twisted, slamming him up against the wall and holding him there, trapped. Gary pressed all around him, aggravating and annoying and dangerous and so bitter that Kieren could taste it, senses reeling from phantom sensations.

The heart that no longer beat raced; the flesh that no longer sensed warmed.

For once, they met in the middle.

Their lips collided, ruthless and sharp. Teeth and tongue and wickedness, prying each other’s lips apart, refusing to settle any longer for a compromise. Instead, they focused on domination, on grief, on destruction, trying to take each other apart. Kieren’s hands wrapped themselves around Gary’s skull, a demand rather than a caress, and Gary’s hands wrapped around Keiren’s shoulders, keeping him pinned to the wall. Kissing meant there wasn’t time to speak, and that was a mercy. Keiren didn’t want to speak, didn’t want to think, wanted to feel with nerves in a body that had gone dead while his mind remained alive.

He didn’t trust Gary, didn’t even like him, but there was something to the surety of Gary’s grip, and the way he made Keiren arch, eyes sliding closed despite all reason, all rationality. Keiren wanted, plain and simple, he wanted and for a moment, that want could be this simple: another person close, wanting nothing but swift, sharp release, fury bubbling until it overflowed in them both.

They hips ground together in a wild echo of their mouths, and Kieren grunted, arching as impossible sensation crawled beneath his skin and a spray of sparks. “Fuck,” Kieren whispered, and Gary shook his head, hands shoving hard enough that Kieren’s head slammed back against the wall - and then his shirt was being shoved up out of the way.

“Not a goddamn word out of you, rotter,” he hissed, but then he followed it up with a searing bite to Kieren’s lower lip and a flicker of tongue across the ache, so Kieren retaliated by getting Gary’s pants open, shoving them and his boxers down out of the way. There wasn’t enough space between them to see Gary’s cock, but Kieren’s hands slid over hairy thighs and a soft balls and then Gary’s breath caught in his throat, and Kieren smiled and arched.

Gary’s fingers, rough and callused, slid down Kieren's own stomach to his cock, and it didn’t matter anymore, none of it mattered so long as Gary’s fingers were around him. Pants and underwear pushed down, they found themselves interlocked, hands moving in jagged rhythm. Pure blinding sensation rolled over him when Gary’s gun calluses slid over the head of Kieren’s cock, and it didn’t matter how he’d gotten them, or why. They were sin incarnate.

This time, Kieren’s head slammed back against the wall of its own volition.

In revenge, Kieren twisted his hand and tightened his grip, thumb rubbing just right beneath the head of Gary’s cock, across the nerves Kieren knew well, and Gary half-moaned something that made Kieren laugh breathlessly, only to be on the receiving end of another brutal, cruel kiss. Their hands worked tirelessly, and Kieren’s toes began to curl as heat ripped through him, an ouroboros of almost that stole away thoughts of anything but this.

Gary came first, or perhaps Kieren did. He couldn’t tell, because the sensation blotted out all else, and even if he could register the silky splash of come on his hand, it would have been secondary to his own pleasure. Kieren sagged against the wall, trembling, head gone fuzzy from an orgasm that had been as glorious as it was impossible. He blinked slowly up at the ceiling, unable to focus on anything except the damp little puffs of breath Gary made against his skin.

“Get out.”

Kieren closed his eyes, yanking his clothing back into place before he stared directly at Gary. “Hah, hah,” he murmured. “One of us go the last laugh.”

He should have expected the hand in his hair that twisted, ripping away pleasure for pain as Gary dragged him to the door and threw him out. He landed poorly and hissed, more sensations flooding him, and he should be afraid, but instead exhilaration consumed him as he hungered for more, especially those now-fading sensations from Gary. Kieren stood, brushing himself off, and defiantly looked at Gary one last time, chin high.

Gary swallowed, eyes tracing over Kieren like he could memorize him.

Kieren turned and walked away, and promised to himself that he’d never let Gary find out about the impossible heat that still warmed the cold places inside him.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed! When I re-watched the series, I instantly thought the infamous Sunday Lunch scene would be a great concept from which to write your fic. Have a very merry Yuletide!


End file.
